


Passion

by orphan_account



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Non-Famous, Alternate Universe - Orchestra, Alternate Universe - Punk, Bottom Harry, Harry also has mild insomnia because why not, Harry is really passionate, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, London Symphony Orchestra, Louis is a grump, M/M, Punk Louis, Top Louis, cellist harry, skinny love, still cute tho, theyre gonna be drinking but its not like too hardcore
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-20
Updated: 2015-11-29
Packaged: 2018-04-26 18:16:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5015131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis shrugged his shoulders and turned back to the crowd. They took a moment to set up and Louis noticed the newcomer staring at him. Louis couldn't read his expression until he saw a tongue slip out and lick over his bottom lip, but before Louis could smirk and wink the man was sighing and turning away from the stage, appearing rather upset that there was live music at the bar.<br/>Louis didn't let it bother him that much; instead Louis simply assumed he wouldn't be his future manager, but those full pink lips and capable tongue would be the perfect distraction from all his problems; even if it was just for one night. <br/>-<br/>-<br/>Or the one in which Harry is a passionate classical musician, Louis is a singer for a punk band and they both have something that the other needs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I apologize for any inaccuracies about the LSO, things in london and any British slang I use incorrectly. Also I own nothing! These characters are loosely based on real people but they're mostly just my imagination. But I OWN NOTHING. I have no affiliations with any of the members of One Direction or anything in regards to the London Symphony Orchestra or even the fictional bar The Jewel.  
> Thanks to Hannah and Mel for the amazing help, and check me out on either quotev or tumblr

The coffee was bitter on his tongue. He'd prefer tea, but it never seemed to wake him up as much as coffee. His walk was brisk, the length of his legs helping pick up the pace as he rushed into the building. He had known he was going to be late for rehearsal, but his tired body had simply refused to leave his bed that morning.  Harry let out a sigh, fingers gripping the handle of his cello case tighter after hopping into the elevator and pressing the button.

He tapped his foot impatiently as the elevator rose, closing his eyes as he attempted to calm himself down. He took another sip of coffee and grimaced, taking off as soon as the door was open.

He slipped into the room and quickly took his seat in the very back, his nimble fingers working quickly to pull his cello from his case. He pursed his lips and quietly thanked God when he realized that the orchestra had only just began tuning; the conductor hadn't even entered the room yet.

In a matter of moments his instrument was out, between his legs and the horsehair of the bow was pressed to the string as Harry quickly tuned his instrument. He knew that it would be in tune- he had been playing all night. A cello in motion stays in motion. Harry's lips curled into a small smile.

That was part of the reason he had been unable to sleep the night before. He had stayed up till the wee hours of the night practicing the orchestra's new piece. When he decided it was good enough he had stripped off his clothing and laid flat in bed, staring at the ceiling. An unnamed melody had kept him up all night, ringing in his head until he gave in, getting up to play it. Harry hoped he had written down the notes, because thinking of it now, he realized he couldn't remember a thing aside from how beautiful it would sound on Gertrude (his cello, of course. Harry told himself that all good musicians named their instrument, but part of him knew that it wasn't all that normal).

His stand partner snuffed out a chuckle when Harry relaxed, sitting against the back of his chair and taking a sip of coffee. Harry glanced over at the middle-aged woman by the name of Jennifer. He wasn't sure if she was laughing about his frantic look, the fact he was late or if there was something on his face. Knowing Jennifer, Harry assumed it was an unfortunate mix of all three and wiped the back of his hand over his mouth.

Just then, the conductor appeared from her office. A small woman by the name of Barbara, her body about 1/4th the size of Harry's. That didn't mean she wasn't terrifying. She took her place at the podium and looked over the group in front of her and furrowed her eyebrows together, her lips pursed. She made eye contact with Harry for less than a second, but Harry felt a wave of shame run through his body.

"Good morning, ladies and gentlemen." She said, raising her baton. The entire orchestra sat up in their seats, bringing their instruments into position. "I'm glad you all...made it." Harry felt his throat tighten and he attempted to swallow down the lump, his hand squeezing around the bow. "Concert's in a month. I expect perfection, yes? Please take out your Vivaldi." And after a few seconds of paper fluttering, the orchestra was off and playing.

The London Symphony Orchestra consisted of only the best of the best. It had come as a shock to Harry's family and friends when he broke the news that he had actually made it in. He received a chorus of "Really?"'s "You?"'s and "I just cant see you in an orchestra setting"'s. He had been accepted into the orchestra right out of college, and even Harrys favorite professor had been in shock when she heard the news.

Now, it wasn't because Harry wasn't good enough for the LSO -he was not only the best but also the youngest cellist in the group- so it confused Harry as to why everyone was so shocked at his career decision. He had been playing in orchestras ever since he chose his first quarter-sized cello in year five (Celly: golden cello with terrible tone and a near plastic bow). He had excelled quickly and found himself climbing the ladder of advanced classes at a remarkable rate. By year eleven he was in his secondary school's top orchestra and the music was beginning to become boring for him. He knew he was good enough to play for the LSO, but it only took him about a week in the job to realize why he shouldn't have; and two years later he found himself growing more and more miserable every day.

Harry was jerked out of his thoughts and concentration when the the piercing silence from the orchestra entered his ears. He hadn't been watching the conductor and had continued playing for nearly an entire measure after the rest of the orchestra had stopped. His bow hand tensed and his cello emitted a disgusting sound as Harry ripped the bow away from the string. Jennifer snorted and Barbara leaned over her podium, letting out an exasperated sound

"Cellos. Measures 23 through 64 are piano. Not forte. Piano means quiet. I'd expect professional musicians to understand that." Barbara sighed, looking over the cello section before moving on to give other friendly suggestions to the rest of the orchestra. Harry didn't realize it had been him until about half his section turned around to give him dirty looks. He felt his face flush and looked down at his cello, trying hard not to make eye contact with anyone. In a matter of moments Barbara's baton was in the air again, and just before allowing the orchestra to begin she snarled, "Oh and Harry? I'm up here conducting for a reason. I tell you when to start and stop. Not sure if you're accustomed to the concept." And before Harry even had the time to process the words before the orchestra was playing again.

That was exactly the problem. Harry was too good. His tone, movement and every little detail of his playing was so good that every time he picked up his cello he found himself sucked into a different world. He played what was beautiful, not what was on a paper, and in an orchestra setting that was beyond unacceptable. An orchestra is made of members who must all conform, every little movement must be exactly the same as everyone else's. Harry couldn't do that. He was simply too passionate to fit in with everyone else.

Rehearsal that day ended with only a couple more verbal jabs, and Harry -like every other day- packed up his cello and scurried out as soon as he could. It wasn't until he was three blocks away that he finally let his pace drop to a normal speed. Still, he kept his head down and silently made his way home.

Upon entering his flat, Harry set down his cello, kicked off his shoes and sunk into his sofa. He held his head in his hands, shaking it slowly as he wished he could simply disappear. He had absolutely no idea what to do. A section member in the LSO was one of the best jobs a musician of his nature could ask for. He knew tons of people who would kill for his job, and here he was, wondering if there was any way to get out of rehearsal tomorrow. 

After his short self-pity-party, he leaned back and took out his cell. His friend Niall, a French Horn player, had texted him three times. 

_You okay?_

_She was pretty rough on you today._

_Where'd you go?_

He'd say the same thing just about every day. Harry would always reply the same way.

_I'm fine. I just wanted to get home._

He had a short conversation via text with Niall, who ultimately wanted to know if Harry wanted to go out for a drink. Harry always declined such offers, claiming that he was really busy (even though he would probably just practice, absentmindedly wank to some crappy porn and then try- but usually fail- to go to sleep). Niall never argued too much, and Harry was glad that his few amount of friends weren't too needy. 

This night, however, was different. After finishing his daily routine and even showering, Harry felt one hundred percent more awake. Usually his insomnia would keep him up in a sleepy daze, him fading in and out of reality and until his alarm clock dragged him from bed the next morning. Instead, Harry layed in bed, staring at the ceiling. He felt unable to even close his eyes, and a dull anxiety made him unable to stay still. It took him about twenty minutes until he couldn't take it anymore.

He sat up and stretched out his long limbs, curling his fingers a few times for good measure. He considered getting up to practice, but decided against it partially because he knew it would only rile him up more, and partially because he knew that the elderly woman upstairs went to bed at 9 and it was 10:30 (they would often share recipes and Harry considered her a good friend. She had told him a thousand times that she couldn't hear him play, but he always knew when Sheryl was lying).

So, with no other options, Harry stood and redressed himself. He decided to go for a short walk around the city to try to calm his nerves. It was the end of October, so Harry bundled up before climbing down the steps and out into the cold. 

The street was eerily quiet as he made his way down to the local park. London at night was nothing compared to during the day, and Harry found himself slightly afraid. He often forgot that he was a large, strong man, and he found himself growing even more anxious by the second. He was just about to turn around and hurry home when he walked past a bar. He took a few steps back and stopped in front of it, looking over the sign and structure of the building. It looked similar to an old pub, with warm browns, stained glass windows and a sign that proclaimed "The Jewel. Family owned. Est.1955." He figured that such an old bar must be safe, plus it was the first open building he'd seen the entire walk, so he didn't really have any other options.

He opened the door and was greeted by warm air and the smell of pumpkin and beer. He took a deep breath and entered the bar. It was large on the inside, and relatively busy, considering the fact that it was 10 at night on a Thursday. Most of the bar was filled with older men, with the occasional group of boys his age. It seemed like the kind of bar that made its way into people's everyday life. The type of place that you'd go just to have somewhere to sit with your friends, even if you didn't feel like getting trashed. The comfortable feel of the place prompted Harry to sit at the bar, and an elderly woman quickly approached him. 

"Hi there, love. You're a new face. Me name's Jewel. What's your poison?" She had an Irish accent, and Harry couldn't help but wonder if the place was named after her. He gave her a warm smile and quietly ordered a drink, receiving it almost immediately. He expected her to disappear, to go help other costumers or to notice the dark circles under Harry's eyes and feel the need to leave him alone, but she didn't. "So, what's your story?"

"Pardon?"

"What's your name? We don't get many new visitors 'round here."

"Oh uh.. I'm Harry. I live down the street. I just... Couldn't sleep." Harry wasn't sure what it was about The Jewel that made him feel comfortable. Maybe it was the soft dip in the cushion of the bar stool, maybe it was the way the counter was the perfect height for leaning on, or maybe it was the significant drop in hours spent asleep in Harrys schedule. Whatever the reason, within a few minutes of entering the store Harry felt his body relax and grow accustomed to the place. It felt like home.

"Well, The Jewel has been home to insomniacs for 60 years. You're welcome to hang around here. We close up at 6am, and there'll be a live band in... Oh! There they are!" Harry took a sip of his drink as he slowly spun around to look at the little stage in front of a little makeshift dance floor in the corner of the bar. Four men clad in black and painted with tattoos made their way onto the stage, setting up their instruments. They were all attractive; Harry blamed the fluttering in his lower stomach on mix of sleep and sex deprivation, and he tried his hardest to avert his thoughts from chiseled punk men pounding on their instruments. 

Jewel scurried around the counter and took the microphone, calling attention to the stage and giving a short speech about how the band had made the Jewel their home, playing there almost every week. Ending with a loud, "Let's all please give a warm welcome back to One Direction!" 

Harry grimaced at the name as they took the microphone and began to play. He turned completely away from the stage and looked down at the bar, rubbing his temple as he tried to tune the band out. It wasn't that they were bad, they just werent particularly good. Harry liked punk, but he just simply wasn't in the mood. He downed his drink and politely asked Jewel for another, shaking his head and sighing tiredly. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today's note will come to you in a series of five parts  
> 1\. This is my first time writing on ao3 so I apologize for any mistakes (like, embedding links is really hard and I accidentally made it look like I updated 100 million times without actually figuring out how to embed the link). But I'm learning and working and trying my best!!!!  
> 2\. I have a lot of stuff already planned out for this fic, so if all goes well you should expect an update every 2? 3 days? Week and a half?? Ish? Because it takes a few days to write and then at least a day to edit (since I'm in school and I have like actual responsibilities or something.)  
> 3\. Thank you very much for all the kudos and hits and lovely comments and even bookmarks!! Woo!! Also thanks again to Hannah and Mel who are not only my literary advisors but also my biggest fans and best friends.  
> 4\. The song Louis is singing is: Sophomore Slump or Comeback of the Year by Fall Out Boy  
> (But we'll pretend like it's their song for the sake of my poor fob heart).  
> 5\. This chapter is in Louis' point of view but its from the beginning of the same day. (So you get an idea of what the same day was like for Harry and Louis)  
> And that's it! Enjoy!  
> -C <3

_"Are we growing up, or just going down?"_  
"More."  
" _It's just a matter of time until we're all found out!_ "  
"More!"  
_"Take your tears and put them on ice-"_  
"More!!"  
"Shut up already!" Louis' shouted, pushing over the nearest music stand and balling his hands up into fists. He caught himself quickly, grinding his teeth before relaxing and giving his band-mate a smile. "Sorry! I just. I can't sing any louder, mate."

Liam chuckled and tilted his head back, taking a long pull from his bottle of beer. Louis couldn't understand how Liam could drink beer at ten in the morning, or how Zayn sat next to him eating Chinese food, nodding along as if trying to pretend he wasn't high. 

"Not louder, mate. Just like, more. From your heart."

Louis sighed and plopped down on the sofa, picking up a bottle of juice and swallowing the contents down. They had been practicing for the past two hours in Louis' living room and Louis could feel his voice beginning to become tired. After perfecting the instrumentals, Louis had begun to work on his vocals while Liam and Zayn shouted pointers and threw food at him from his couch. 

"I'm sick of hearing that, Liam. I am singing from my heart. I wrote the lyrics didn't I? They're straight out of my heart." Liam only shook his head; he knew when to drop things and that was one of the reasons Louis liked him. Besides, Louis had heard it before; he just wasn't entirely sure what it meant. He practiced constantly and he thought he sang well; he couldn't understand how he wasn't living up to his band mates' expectations.

The band in question was One Direction, a punk/punk-pop group consisting of Zayn Malik on drums, Liam Payne on guitar and Louis Tomlinson leading the group on vocals and bass. One Direction was more of a bar band, with the occasional show in a small venue, but their fanbase was steadily growing. They had amazing lyrics, sick guitar shreds and a soulless singer; many believed that they could make it big if Louis learned to incorporate passion into his singing. They were good, but Louis simply couldn't catch people's attention.

Louis rubbed his palms into his eyes, letting out an exasperated sigh. Liam and Zayn had begun to talk about their upcoming show at The Jewel, a bar that they played at frequently. While Louis loved the atmosphere of The Jewel, he told his band mates time and time again that playing there as getting them nowhere. The same people were in the bar every single night. If they weren't fans yet, they never would be. Liam had always countered with some bullshit about how The Jewel was their home, and Louis couldn't argue with that.

"Do you guys wanna go play some football?" Louis asked suddenly. He wasn't sure why he felt anxiety buzz from deep in his body, but it forced him to bounce his legs and suddenly feel like he had to run a marathon. Liam looked at him with surprise written on his eyebrows, and Louis realized he had missed something, "Sorry, what?"

"I said, we really need to get back to work."

Louis felt his heart in his throat; he tried to swallow it down before he died right there in his living room while Zayn opened a fortune cookie. Instead of immediate death, he nodded and sat back in his chair, trying to relax his posture. He didn't want to practice any more. Louis wasn't good at taking criticism begin with, but being unaware of how to fix his problems made it even worse.

"I was just thinking.. The third line in Drag Me Down..."

Liam gave a few light pointers about the volume of his voice during random spots of random songs, and Louis nodded along, unable to concentrate on anything Liam said as he drifted into his own thoughts. Suddenly, he wanted to be alone.

"You coming, Lou?" Liam and Zayn were standing near the door, and Louis wondered how he had missed them standing.

"Oh uh, you know what? I'm actually feeling a little ill. I think I'll pass on footie today. I'll see you tonight though"

Liam tilted his head, confusion clear on his face. It passed quickly enough though, as he shrugged and flashed Louis a smile, and then he was alone.

Louis decided he deserved a nice long nap before the concert, and headed to his bedroom. He was met with a flash of grey and white as soon as he opened his door, making him stumble back and let out a cackle as Toby greeted him with licks and nibbles on his shoelaces. He was a miniature schnauzer but he was still only a puppy so Louis had to lock him up during band rehearsal, lest he chew up cables and got hurt.

Louis lifted his puppy from the floor, holding him close even when he began to lick Louis's face, "Will you cuddle with me, Toby? I need a good listener." He asked, sitting on the edge of the bed and petting over his head. Toby made a whining sound- he was trying to get to Louis' pillow to use as a chew toy, but Louis held him just slightly too far away- and Louis took that as a yes, lifting his legs into bed and curling up under the sheets. Toby, upon seeing the fascinating sight that is a blanket, wiggled his way underneath and curled up next to Louis.

"Oh Toby. What am I gonna do?"

Tony let out a snuff before starting to chew on Louis' shirt.

"How can I get better? Everyone is always telling me to do more, to be more. But I already work so hard. I just... I'm stuck."

Louis wasn't sure why he expected anything more, but was still disappointed when Toby emitted a little burp and promptly fell asleep. 

"Absolutely useless. You were supposed to be my good listener." Louis sighed, looking down at his pup. He shrugged his shoulders, smiling tenderly as he cuddled close and closed his eyes. "You're still cute though."

~

He wished he had worn something else. He wished he had shaved. God, he even wished he had showered. 

He had figured this was just another little show at The Jewel, and Louis had thrown a pair of dark sweats and a old holy Nirvana shirt on last minute. He inwardly thanked every God from every religion that he hadn't come in pajamas, because as he looked out at the crowd he noticed something different.

Only newcomers ever sat at the actual bar at The Jewel, but there never seemed to be any newcomers. However, there sat at the bar was the most beautiful man that Louis had ever seen. His hair was long and slightly curled at the ends, the feminine style contrasting with his razor sharp jawline and strong facial features. He wore a loose leopard-print shirt that showed off his collarbones and a pair of bird tattoos on his chest. His thighs were hugged tightly by the tightest pair of skinny jeans Louis had ever seen and Louis felt the immediate desire to rip them off (but he tried to blame that on his recent lack of sex). The entire look was brought together by a pair of ankle boots, gold and sparkling almost as much as his white teeth did when he smiled at Jewel.

Liam got Louis' attention and nodded towards the man while  mouthing, "Talent agent?" It took Louis a moment to process the question, as he wasn't sure whether to be embarrassed about the fact that he had just been caught drooling over a stranger. His friends knew about his sexuality, and it often seemed that Louis was the only one embarrassed about discussing it with his straight friends (And after a couple awkward conversations where Liam and Zayn had jokingly tried to ask if he was a top or a bottom met with grumpy mumbles, bright blushes and unclear answers, they had up on trying to talk to him about it. Of course, his shyness around straight people didn't stop him from accepting a one night stand whenever the opportunity was offered- he was a rockstar after all). Louis shrugged his shoulders and turned back to the crowd. They took a moment to set up and Louis noticed the newcomer staring at him. Louis couldn't read his expression until he saw a tongue slip out and lick over his bottom lip, but before Louis could smirk and wink the man was sighing and turning away from the stage, appearing rathe upset that there was live music at the bar.

Louis didn't let it bother him that much; instead Louis simply assumed he wouldn't be his future manager, but those full pink lips and capable tongue would be the perfect distraction from all his problems; even if it was for just one night. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahhhhhhhhhhhhh  
> Thanks again to Hannah and Mel br />  
> This chapter took a while but its nice?? I'm really really proud of getting it done. The next one will probably come sometime around mid December because finals are coming up and I have to prepare??  
> Anyway. I'm gonna start recommending songs that either I think go well with chapter or songs I was listening to while writing the chapter. It's entirely optional to listen, but I think it's important to get into the mood while reading. The songs for this chapter are Smells Like Teen Spirit by 2CELLOS and Could I've Been So Blind by The Black Crowes. Happy reading! -c

When Harry woke up his head was throbbing. More importantly though, so was the head of his dick. He had woken to find his hand wrapped around his cock, pumping furiously. It was dry and rough and Harry had no idea what had caused it, but he figured he'd woken up in worse situations.

He paused to lick his hand, adding some much needed moisture to the activity, but was quickly back at it. He tilted his head back on the warm pillow, ignoring the rush of nausea that threatened to spill from his mouth, a low groan tumbling from his lips instead. He hadn't gotten himself off in a while (like, a week), but his hand was trained to excellence during his years of teenage horniness (when he found out that men are just so, so fit and he found himself wanking every night) and it was an expert at finding the perfect spot to help Harry's orgasm spill over. His hand tugged at the base, wrist flicked when his hand moved up the shaft, thumb rubbing over his slit, all without Harry having to give a single moment of thought. In a matter of moments warmth was pooling in Harry's lower stomach, and just before he reached his orgasm he heard himself groan, "Fuck, Louis."

Fuck, Louis

Louis.

Harry sat up like a bullet, erection forgotten and sleep completely abandoned. Who the fuck was Louis? 

He tried to tell himself that it had just sounded like Louis. He didn't even know a Louis. He told himself it had to have been his hangover playing tricks on him, but part of Harry knew that that couldn't be true. Something had happened last night, something with a Louis, something Harry couldn't remember. 

He was almost grateful for the distraction when his hangover chose that moment to make itself be heard. He shot out of bed and stumbled to the bathroom, lying with his forehead against the cool tile floor after he flushed the toilet, too dizzy to stand up. His thoughts were clouded by the headache, his stomach churning over nothing. Why had he drank so much? He hadn't even been sad enough to drink that much, just tired. 

While his mind struggled to rationalize the past twenty four hours, another wave of nausea hit him. As he leaned up and got sick for the second time, Harry thought about calling Niall. He was too sick to leave the bathroom, and he knew his friend would come help him in a heartbeat. He knew he should feel bad about wanting to ask Niall for help when he often turned him down when the boy wanted hang out with Harry, but it was something else that kept Harry from calling him. He knew Niall would be busy, but God, why was that so important right now?

Orchestra

He was up and out of the house before his hangover had time to catch up with him. Running down the street with cello in hand, Harry's only thought was, how did my life get like this?

When Harry clumsily burst into the orchestra's rehearsal room, it was only to find everyone already packing up. It took him less than a second to process the thought and tell his legs to sneak out, but Barbara was already yelling his name, demanding he come to her office. 

He ducked his head, avoiding eye contact with anyone as he made his way to her office. He felt like a child being summoned to receive a detention; he just hoped it wasn't an expulsion.

"Leave your cello outside. Have a seat." She ordered, barely paying attention to him as she leafed through yellowing sheet music. He did as he was told, closing the door after him. The office was spacious, yet cluttered into appearing smaller. Stacks of sheet music littered the floor, varying degrees of age obvious by their different colors. Her walls were chalkboards, random melodies and notes scribbled all about. She had only one window and a cactus sat upon it, giving a bit of color to the otherwise bland room. It all fit nicely, dusty and homey and it would have been pleasant if Harry was there for any other reason. 

He took a seat in the rickety old chair sat in front of Barbara's desks, legs crossing as he suddenly realized how naked he felt without his cello. It had made sense that Barbara had wanted him to leave it outside - there was no room for it- but it still felt like cruel and unusual punishment.

"Good morning, ma'am."

"Afternoon, Harry. And it can hardly be considered good." She finally looked up, and Harry realized that he was wearing the same clothes from the day before. Had he even brushed his teeth this morning? "Do you understand what my job is? How stressful it is to maintain an orchestra?"

Harry wasn't sure if he was supposed to answer, but she surged forward, "See, as conductor I have to make sure everyone is in line. Now, I thought I was pretty good at my job, but now my worst cellist can't even come to rehearsal?" She paused as if waiting for Harry to crumple at the insult, standing up and beginning to pace. " You know, they told me I'd be crazy not to take you. A prodigy, the critics said. I'd be a laughing stock if I let Chicago have another one. But look where he's gotten me! Dragging the entire orchestra down!"

Harry felt his heart drop; he could handle being 'the worst cellist.' But was he truly dragging the entire orchestra down with him?

"You're a brilliant cellist. You have passion and soul that I've never heard or seen in all of my years. You're truly a master, but you don't fit in. You're too .. Too much for my orchestra! You're too loud, too open. You'd be a brilliant solo act, Harry. But you just don't fit in here. You draw too much attention to yourself. And then you do something like this! Missing rehearsal, Harry? I'd say you'd be fit as a rock star if I didn't hear you play the damn thing."

When he finally opened his mouth, no words came out. He didn't want to lose his job; he'd never get another one in the industry. He wanted to protest, wanted to beg, but once again Barbara was a step ahead.

"Don't give me that look. I'm not firing you." She sighed, sitting on the edge of her desk, leaning in at almost eye level with Harry. "However, it is a very serious warning. If you don't improve by the end of this next concert cycle then I'm going to have to let you go." She held up two fingers in her lap, head tilting. Her eyes were bright as she watched Harry, and he couldn't help but wonder if she was enjoying chewing him out. "Which means one of two things: either start to look for new job, or learn to become a team player. You need to learn to contain yourself. Don't let the music control you. Which means perfected dynamics, controlled movement, and not showing up hungover to my rehearsals, understand?" Harry's head bowed, staring closely at his lap as he tried not to cry. He needed to improve, but he didn't know where to begin.

When Barbara didn't speak for a while, Harry thought she was done. He raised his head slowly to possibly plan his escape, but Barbara was watching him closely, her expression soft.

"You don't belong here Harry. You could be so much more if you just let this orchestra go. You need somewhere where you can be free."

Harry was suddenly angry, the hot feeling surging through his body. "You can’t... You can't tell me where I belong. I auditioned, I qualified for my role in the orchestra. The cello is my life, Barbara. Passion isn't a bad thing." He stood, straightening out to his full height as he pushed in his chair and made his way to the door, "And I'm really sick of people telling me otherwise. I'm a good cellist. You're lucky to have me. I'm going to improve and you're going to have to eat your words. This is where I belong."

He rushed out of the room and ran down the stairs, knowing he would be unable to stand still in the elevator. His cello was held tightly at his side, and for once it wasn't providing any comfort for him. He stumbled over the last step, cursing and slinging his cello over his shoulder like a backpack.

When he was outside, he started running. He didn't stop until he was home. It was raining, but he barely noticed. Usually he'd be concerned about his cello getting wet, but he just kept running. He didn't realize he was crying until he slid down against his own front door, cello hugged to his chest.

The rest of the day passed in an unforgiving blur. He wasn't entirely sure if he was awake or asleep as he practiced, ate, and texted Niall about nonsense. It wasn't until he laid down to go to sleep that he realized he was awake, because he couldn't will his eyes to close and the clouds in his head kept him from thinking clearly instead of forming together to allow him to sleep. He waited for what felt like hours before sitting up. He deserved a trip to the Jewel. 

With the day’s events, Harry realized that he had completely forgotten about Louis. That is, of course, until he saw him sitting at the bar. 

"Harry!"

~

Louis wasn't there for Harry. He wasn't there because he thought Harry might be there. He didn't drive across town from Liam's flat because the tall, flowery man would be the there. He didn't accidentally run a red light because he was thinking about the man with the brightest smile, the most contagious laugh. His hands didn't shake as he picked out an outfit because he wanted to impress the seemingly only guy who could pull off a flowing leopard print shirt and still appear masculine. His legs didn't bounce involuntarily because he was nervous that Harry wouldn't even remember him. 

He just really liked The Jewel.

It was normal for him to jump every time the door opened, fixing his shirt and straightening up his posture. Entirely normal for him to study every man’s face, making sure Harry hadn't walked in without him noticing. At least, that's what Louis told himself.

Louis ordered a drink to try to calm himself, not that he was nervous or anything. He was just a bit uncomfortable because he was seated at the counter, when usually he'd be sitting in a table in the back. Not that he had sat at the bar because a drunken Harry had poked his finger at the seat and slurred out a, "Meet me right here tomorrow." Not at all. In fact, he'd purposely avoided that seat, choosing the one over instead.

He took a long drink from his glass, draining it of the bitter whiskey before setting it down hard on the wooden counter. The sound seemed to scare Jewel, Louis, and half the bar; he muttered a hurried "Sorry, don't know my own strength." Jewel rolled her eyes at the boy and asked if he wanted another, which Louis responded to positively.

He was starting to think that Harry wasn't going to show up. It made sense of course - Harry was drunk out of his mind. It was silly of Louis to think he'd even remember him. He slumped forward, staring into the amber liquid in his glass. He was in the middle of asking himself why he tried to pick up men in the worst ways when Jewel’s voice startled him.

"Harry!"

Louis shot up like a bolt, begging himself to contain himself before turning around. He put on his calmest facade and turned around to look at the newcomer and Louis almost fell out of his chair.

Harry was truly beautiful when Louis first met him, he couldn't deny that. But seeing him sober, hands shoved in his pockets, a natural expression on his face, that was entirely different. The night before was nothing but a dream, a blur of curls, attraction, and drunken laughter. But Louis wasn't dreaming anymore. This Harry was real. 

His face looked like it could've been carved from stone, pale and soft aside from the faint dark circles under his eyes and the red red red of his lips. He wore jeans so tight they looked painted on, contrasting well with the sheer black shirt that hung loosely from his shoulders. Louis wanted to touch every inch of him.

He shook his head of the thought, forcing away the bright smile forming at his lips as he watched Harry smile and wave to Jewel. Louis thought about how drunk Harry probably would've ran over and kissed her, and he couldn't contain the fondness that grew in his chest, but then the fond was chased away by the butterflies because Harry was looking at him, making the most adorable confused face Louis had ever seen. 

He crossed the room in three long strides, foot placed carefully as if he was calculating each step. But then he was there and he was so terribly close and he was sitting next to Louis and he smelled like mint and wood and lavender and Louis could barely hear himself speak.

"You're much more graceful when you're sober." He couldn't believe himself. No, "Hello." or "Remember me?" No, of course not. Louis had to practically insult the guy. Harry's eyebrows drew together and his lips parted, but then he was laughing and Louis wondered if that's what angels sounded like. 

"I'd hope so. You must be Louis." He held his hand out which Louis quickly took to shake. Louis found himself growing angry when he noticed the size of Harry's hands. Honestly, this just wasn't fair.

"You remembered!" He tried to hide his disappointment when Harry pulled his hand away.

"Yeah I uh.. That's all I remember." Louis wondered if he was imagining things when he noticed Harry's cheeks go pink.

Harry had turned to order a drink, giving Louis the perfect view of his chiseled jawline. He wondered if fainting would make this Prince Charming go rescue him.

"Oh, I suppose that's for the best." Louis said, waving his hand in a light circle. He smiled when Harry looked back to him, only to realize that Harry looked concerned. 

"Why’s that? What happened?" 

"Oh nothing bad! You were just singing 's all. A lot. To someone named Gertrude. We didn't, like, do anything..." Louis trailed off when he noticed Harry's face contort into something appalled, and for the first time since meeting him, Louis wondered if he was straight. Flirting with a straight guy, Louis was hitting all sorts of lows.

"God.. I can't believe I was singing to my cello and someone was there to hear." He said, chuckling into his drink.

"Your cello?" Louis frowned, his eyebrows drawing together while Harry took a drink of his cocktail. Was 'cello' a nickname for a girlfriend, a wife? Gertrude was such a strange name. Louis wondered if Harry was dating someone a lot older.

"Yeah, my cello." He studied Louis' face for a moment before breaking into a big grin, like explaining something to Louis was a treat. "’T's like... A big violin. Hold it between my thighs." He said, spinning his chair around and holding an imaginary figure between his legs, dragging his arm side to side and Louis had to rip his eyes away from the sight because Harry was just so tall and his thighs were so nice. 

"Yeah! Yeah I knew that. Of course I knew that. Just like, why Gertrude" His tone was sharper than he'd planned, but Harry seemed unfazed, almost as if he believed Louis' lie. His eyes looked far off and there was a smile on his lips when he looked back at Louis.

"Why'd your mum name you Louis?"

Louis thought about that for a while. He'd been named after some uncle he's never met, but he always felt like he fit the name; he was going to use it to become famous. Of course, that wasn't what Harry was talking about. He was talking about the emotional connection between mother and child, suggesting that was what he had with his instrument. Louis barely liked the bass, let alone feel the need to name it, he much preferred singing. 

"So um, you do it professionally?" Louis asked, wanting to change the subject as soon as possible. Harry nodded, downing his drink and setting it down on the counter with an audible sigh.

"Yeah, I play in the London Symphony Orchestra."

"I'll have to go see you perform sometime." Harry's eyes widened then squinted, shaking his head a ridiculous amount. Louis almost reached forward and ran his fingers through his curls. Almost.

"That won't be necessary." 

"Oh c'mon. Orchestra music can't be that boring. I mean, you've already seen me play - it’s only fair."

"I really don't think you'd like it..." Louis opened his mouth to argue, but Harry saw it coming and quickly changed the subject. "What else happened last night? How did I get home?"

Louis squinted at the man, thinking about pressing further into the orchestra subject. He ultimately decided that was the wrong move, giving a noncommittal shrug. "Nothing, really. We had a nice chat about whales. Then I helped you home." Louis didn't go into detail about how he had carried him when he became too tired and drunk to walk, babbling his own drunken nonsense while Harry practically fell asleep in his arms. Something like that was bound to make Harry uncomfortable. Nor did he explain how Harry had begged him to tuck him in, read him a story and cuddle him to sleep. He did the first, tried the second and had left when Harry fell asleep, sober enough to realize that it wasn't a good idea to stay. 

"Well! Thank you very much. I wondered how my bedside lamp had been knocked over. I guess I was pretty drunk." Harry chuckled, sliding his glass away.

Louis laughed, "I'm sorry. You were a little too heavy for drunk Louis." He groaned inwardly as soon as the words left his lips, a light blush forming on his cheeks as he looked away from Harry, whose eyes had grown wide.

"You carried me?" He asked. Louis gave a light chuckle in response, not looking up from his drink.

"Yeah. I'm sorry. I was a little tipsy and-"

"That's really sweet." Louis finally peeked, finding Harry staring at him and playing with his fingers. Louis shrugged, his smile reborn. Harry motioned to Jewel and got them both new drinks and Louis wondered if it was the alcohol or the boy next to him that made him feel so tipsy already.


End file.
